Careese Drabbles
by Devereauxpoi
Summary: A collection of brief moments, scenes and stories involving our favorite couple. Please check each specific chapter for the rating as they will vary. #CareeseIsEternal
1. Drill Sergeant

**A/N We all know John has a sweet tooth. It was bound to catch up with him! Thanks for reading!**

Joss quickly slipped into the passenger side of the black Lincoln that was idling at the curb. Pulling the door closed behind her, she silently handed the small brown package over to John. He opened the bag and removed its contents, nodding with a smile of approval. She had been able to procure the exact item he requested. Gripping it with his long agile fingers, he began to twist off the cap of the tiny tube, his eyes bright in anticipation. Emptying half the contents on his forefinger, he greedily smeared the gel over the tender gums of his upper mouth. A satisfied moan left his lips as the numbing effect took hold. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the headrest, sliding the small yellow tube into his shirt pocket.

Joss didn't move or speak as she watched the spectacle unfold. A slight cock of her head, twitch of her lips and rise of her brows were the only indication of her amusement. She wondered to herself what sounds John Reese made in bed if the soothing Anbesol could illicit such a response.

This was the third time in two days that John had sped to the nearest pharmacy begging for her to run inside.

"Please, Joss, it's bad."

This had to end. John could handle the excruciating agony of torture or being sewn up in some back alley clinic, with no pain killer, yet he couldn't bear to face down a cavity.

"John, you have to go. This is getting ridiculous. You're acting worse than Taylor."

"Joss, you know I can't. They'll use a drill. A drill!"

"They'll give you a sedative and novocaine. You won't feel a thing or even know where you are. I'll ask Finch for a recommendation."

"Will you come with me?"

"Of course" she assured him, with a hmph under her breath.

* * *

><p>Joss had kept her promise. As she sat patiently next to him in the exam room, she watched him examine each and every tool meticulously. She imagined he could find much better uses for the shiny sharp objects that lay before him. As the doctor and nurse arrived, she let him clutch her hand until his incoherent mumbling had ceased and he'd fallen asleep in the chair.<p>

An hour later, Joss fumbled with the key to John's lock, finally swinging the wide door open and half-dragging his sluggish body inside. Her hand firmly around his waist and his arm draped loosely over her tiny frame, the effects of the Xanax had yet to wear off.

After a stumble into an armchair and a bruised shin from the coffee table, Joss somehow managed to navigate John to his large bed on the other side of the room. She pushed him forward to the mattress and he landed face down with a plop. Tugging off his suit jacket, she rolled him over and then gently removed his shoes. It took all her strength to heave him up to the pillow before pulling the comforter up to his chin. She left a bottle of water and his prescription Tylenol on the side table for when he'd wake up, which wouldn't be for a while if his snoring was any indication.

"Maybe now you'll learn to curb that sweet tooth" she whispered, softly placing a kiss on his forehead and turning to leave.

"I love you, Joss."

Maybe it was the medication talking, maybe she imagined those four little words. She didn't care, she'd take them anyway.

"Sweet dreams John."


	2. Memory Box

**A/N This is part of a larger one shot that I'm still working on. I'm not sure if I'll include it so I'm sharing it now. It might end up making a reappearance.**

John could hardly believe that, 3 months after Joss was laid to rest, here he was helping her unpack her boxed belongings. It was nothing short of a miracle, he mused, still amazed that once again death had been cheated.

Joss lifted up an old wooden box and smiled softly.

"What's in it?"

"Memories."

She dusted it off and carefully opened the lid. Slowly, she examined the contents and placed them one by one on her bed.

Her military dog tags.

Hair from Taylor's first haircut.

His first baby tooth.

Her gold wedding rings.

"Two of these belong to you."

John's bullet.

She handed him the tiny bullet. The bullet that he, not long ago, had credited Joss for it remaining unused.

"I don't need this anymore, Joss. Losing you was my closet call, not this piece of metal. You're the reminder that life is precious."

He placed it next to her other mementos.

The picture of John and Jessica.

John picked up the photo he hadn't seen in years, memories of another lifetime flashing through his mind. He looked at Joss quizzically, shocked to see it in her possession.

"I always meant to give it to you but it never seemed the right time. That day two years ago, when I went to New Rochelle with Donnelly and found it, was when I first began to understand you. What drives you and makes you tick. That photo was a constant reminder to me that you're the good man I always believed in. Validation for all the choices I've made."

"You're a brilliant detective so I can assume you figured out who I really am. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I was hoping that you'd get to a place where you'd want to tell me yourself. A place where you trusted me enough. I guess you never did get there."

He shook his head and grasped her hand.

"It's never been about trust, Joss. Not with you. It's always been about keeping you safe. Safe from me and the darkness that I carry. It follows me everywhere."

She placed her hand over his heart and blinked back hot tears. It had been only a few weeks since she had resurfaced from the dead and reclaimed her place in his life. His grief and mourning she had witnessed firsthand but she hadn't been prepared for the guilt that had wormed its way into his head. All the doubts and the self loathing had returned and his walls had started to once again rise. Joss stubbornly vowed that no matter how hard he pushed her away, she would keep shoving him right back.

"That man in the picture, that's the John I know. The only one I've ever known. That's the John that's inside here and that John is full of light. I won't stop fighting for you. I won't stop fighting for us. All those demons in your head that you battle, we're going to destroy them together."

"I don't need this picture either, Joss. It's a memory too and it belongs in that box."


	3. Homecoming

John quietly closed the front door behind him and secured the locks. Stepping into the foyer, he stopped before the mirror to assess the newly formed bruise on his cheekbone. The swelling had worsened and it was now a vibrant shade of bluish purple. His foolish assailant hadn't fared as well.

He knew Joss would scold his brazen behavior when she saw it in the morning sun. He had promised her he'd exercise more caution, abandon his carefree recklessness. Her addition to his life had brought with it new responsibilities and they had agreed together that his safety and the assurance of a tomorrow were now most important.

He removed his shoes and wearily made his way upstairs to the bedroom, making sure not to make a sound.

After working the latest number for two days straight, he had been anxious to return home. Life was different now because of her and his priorities had shifted; joys and accomplishments were measured by new standards.

Thoughts of holding her in his arms had occupied his mind on the long drive home. Her warmth, her scent, the softness of her skin as she cuddled against his chest. The way her eyes lit up when he smiled at her and he said her name.

At the top of the stairs he slowly turned the door handle on the left and padded across the carpet, careful not to wake her.

He smiled tenderly at the small form snuggled securely in her blanket. Her loose brown curls, the familiar arched eye-brows and the sweet full lips, slightly parted in a deep sleep, filled him with life.

He had told himself he wouldn't wake her, would wait for the morning to see those big blue eyes, but he couldn't resist. He gently lifted her into his arms, carefully tucking her tiny head under his chin.

"Your mom would kill me if she knew."

She was wearing the pale pink pajamas he had picked out himself from the baby boutique the day they found out they were expecting a girl. After eighteen years of raising a rambunctious boy, Joss was now focused on ballerinas, ribbons and frilly dresses. At her insistence, everything in the room was pink, from the bedding to the paint color and her name hanging on the wall.

Annaliese Grace

He cradled her little bottom with one hand and gently caressed her back with the other, whispering sweet endearments in her ear.

He sat down in the rocking chair and inhaled the intoxicating smell of his brand new baby daughter. Lavender and baby powder mixed with the fresh scent of her newborn skin.

She curled her tiny hand around his pinky finger and he gently kissed her temple.

He rocked her back and forth, loving every sweet gurgle and whimper, thinking once again how fortunate he was to have the family he always dreamed of. Fortunate to have found Joss.

Before the door to the bedroom even creaked, the scent of jasmine wafted in. Joss leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed, staring at the shadowy figure in the chair.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

She grinned as she crossed the room and leaned down to kiss his lips softly. John carefully moved the baby to his left shoulder and pulled Joss down on his lap.

"I missed my girls."

"We missed you too."

"Why don't we put her down before she wakes and I'll tuck you in?"

"Yes, and you can explain to me what the hell happened to your face."


	4. Summing It Up

One hundred nineteen.

No more.

No less.

She didn't need a calendar to calculate the months.

The weeks.

The days.

She could even narrow it down to hours and minutes if she wanted.

Joss Carter knew with certainty exactly how long it had been since John Reese vanished into the night and out of her life. He was physically gone but his overwhelming presence and influence remained palpable.

One hundred nineteen nights.

Nights often filled with tears, anger, and sorrow over all the horrible possibilities, the unspeakable outcomes.

Heartache over the feelings she had always been too scared to share, too stubborn to accept.

Disappointment at denying her heart what it had hungered for so long, the craving so painfully strong.

Regret that she had allowed the man she loved like no other to walk away without knowing the truth.

Fear that she'd never get the chance to let him know.

One hundred nineteen days.

Days filled with moments of belief, promise and hope that the new dawn would bring with it answers and relief.

Optimism that she was one day closer to the nightmare being over.

Anticipation that every phone ring, door knock and chime of an arriving email or text might be him.

Faith that he would keep his promise to stay safe and return to her when he could.

Eagerness to wrap him in her arms and smother him with love.

Her eyes never stopped scanning, searching in vain every crowd, every shadow. The city she had always loved became her purgatory. Its streets, teeming with men in dark suits, bore a cruel reminder of her suffering. A day hadn't passed without her mistakenly thinking she'd spotted him, finally found him. Her heart would leap but in the blink of an eye that sickening feeling would return again.

Dread.


End file.
